


Unwieldy Stairs

by Vaeria



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gilnean, Gilneas, OC, Original work - Freeform, Other, World of Warcraft - Freeform, World of Warcraft setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 08:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13454586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaeria/pseuds/Vaeria
Summary: A character development story to practice my writing as I start!





	Unwieldy Stairs

**Author's Note:**

> A character development story to practice my writing as I start!

The sheepskin roll tumbled down the darkened stone stairs that was dimly lit by copper candelabra and quickly following it, the steps of a hurried figured rushed. The small figure bounded down the stairs in a near clumsy manner, forcing her footsteps to echo down the circular stairs and out into the chapel's main hall .   
“Eyma! Careful with those!” The hoarse tones of her teacher forced the young woman to stop mid step, hurling her body forward in surprise and quickly forcing her to join the sheepskin roll in its descent, her body much like a ragdoll followed the parchment to the bottom, and after arriving, the harsh glare of her teacher was all she could focus on in her dazed state.

“F-father! I’m so sorry, I wil-” Before her words could continue to pour out in its shaky and bashful tone, her teacher cut her off quickly. “Eyma! You need to learn to see to your safety first, the scrolls are important but I will not have you die in our chapel.” He..worried about me? Her mind suddenly raced as she looked down in confusion, then darting up to catch her teacher’s eyes now holding a hint of concern, his hand extended in an offering of aid was met by silence and her own trembling one. “I’m..I’m sorry.”   
“Stop apologising, you will waste the words and it will lose its meaning if you keep that up.” Even with such a voice such as his, much like sandpaper drafted over a brick, his words carried a softness to them. “No one will respect someone of your stature if you keep apologising.” His hand clamped down around hers to continue aiding her up, quickly bringing the shorter woman to her feet and leaving her there to collect herself whilst he, himself gathered the seven sheepskin rolls she had scattered across the entrance of the Chapel’s hall.

Listen, Eyma, listen to him, he is right. She kept repeating in her mind as if to use it to collect herself, forcing her elevated breathing down to a normal level from the scare of tumbling down the spiral staircase. Her marble skin had taken an even paler tone from the scare of her potential death at the hands of the inanimate enemy, something that her teacher swiftly caught in the spark of the candelabra light. “My child, what shall I do with you?.” His voice carried a tone of amusement but tinged with worry as he used his free hand to grasp at her elbow, harshly leading her towards the pews at the front of the altar. “Sit.” His order rang out sterner than perhaps intended, forcing the petite woman to slam her rump down onto the pew with such a force that the sound of the wood creaking echoed out into the halls. Her teachers glacier blue, cold eyes, much like her own, landed on her with a stern look, a silent warning towards her clumsiness. 

“You ought to learn that you stand above some, you shouldn’t always look so nervous. It won’t instill people with trust nor will they look to you in their time of need if they assume you can’t care for yourself.” Once more, the lectures of her inability to display confidence about herself began, she sighed internally as it was a lecture repeated near daily but yet, she was unable to learn. Her eyes peered out from behind her cascading crimson hair with a look of defeat and hesitation, forcing her teacher to give her a near sneering look back.   
“Pride!” He suddenly raised his voice, forcing Eyma to jerk back into the pew, a sudden straightened back and her hair forced in a flutter back behind her shoulders. “Pride! You should’ve pride, child!” He continued as his tome suddenly slammed down against the altar. 

 

“It’s hard to show pride, father. I’m no more worth than others.” Her voice doesn’t seem to be a challenge of her teacher’s views but rather, an honest opinion of herself.  
“You’re gifted, Eyma. Perhaps not more than the best but you are still gifted. You usurp information like no other, you’re a quick learning, and will go far if you allow yourself to do it.” His rough voice having reverted back to a kind and fatherly one as he seats himself in the pew before her. His soulless, long hair swaying with each motion he does as he turns to look towards her. 

“Your parents wish for me to enforce rules on your drawings, they claim that it hinders your capability to become a priestess. What do you think?” Eerily blue eyes land on the small woman with a searching flicker, forcing Eyma to fumble on her words and let out nothing but a weak squeak of a butchered attempt escapes. Her hands latch onto her boringly simple mahogany robe, slowly fiddling along the embroidery of it with a nervous twitch of her upper lip before she speaks out. “I..want to draw, I want to include it. They don’t understand, I can use it to show people history! Not only tell them it but actually show them what I’ve seen and what others before us have seen!” 

The curl of her teachers lips catch her off guard, her doubts of her own views fading before her as the curl grows into a prideful and amused grin, a hand comes forward with aged finger gesturing towards her tome that remains shackled to her belt. “That’s a form of pride that you showed me, be as confident in all things as you are regarding your historical ideas and you will blossom, Eyma.” With that, the darkened colours of his priestly attire stretches out to its dulled glory as he comes to a stand, pride mingled with his usual unamused expression as the crooked finger deviates off her tome to the others beside the sheepskin rolls. “You have until tomorrow to copy down those rolls into the tomes. Do you think you can do that, Eyma?” 

His words rung out into her mind as if repeated on a loop, her frosted eyes wandering towards the tome and scrolls, hesitation evident as she begins to fidget. “You will have them done before tomorrow, as much as I care for my favourite student, I can’t let you go unpunished when you act as clumsy as you do.” His stern tone has once more returned in full force as his large body shifts up from the pew, past her and out towards the light that flickers in from the main entrance door way.   
Eyma follows his departure with a sheepish expression before her eyes are caught on the rugged stained glass windows high above, the afternoon’s soft sunrays diving through them to create a banquet hall of dancing figures rather than the deceptively dull stained glass she is so used to from the outside. 

Despite the order given, surely I can offer myself time to draw? The thought alone paints a soft smile on her lips as the shackled tome bound to her side is brought to rest on acquainting thighs, then, from the spine of it, she withdraws a decrepit pencil that by all means seen better days. 

As the sun slowly makes the hills its grave outside the chapel, Eyma always seem to find her peace and solitude in the lonesome halls dimly lit by crowds of candles and, with the crepuscular light spreading around her through the coloured artworks, she drifts away with the only sound being a dulled pencil on aged paper.


End file.
